


You Don't Need to Hide Your Celebratin'

by lilbatfacedgirl



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Car Sex, M/M, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-19 15:15:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22512946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilbatfacedgirl/pseuds/lilbatfacedgirl
Summary: Two men, a Mercedes, and a wedding night!
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 34
Kudos: 416





	You Don't Need to Hide Your Celebratin'

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this pretty quick because I was so happy to have an opportunity to write a canon compliant piece. For so long, all I ever wrote was fix-it-fics or AUs. This has got every cliche I love in it, so if you're familiar with my other stuff, you could probably make up a bingo card. 
> 
> The title is taken from "Raising Hell" by Kesha, the song playing while they walk up the aisle together and a personal favorite of mine. Actually thought they did a great job with the soundtrack for this episode, among the many things that made me happy.

Their first fuck as a married couple is messy as hell.

Not that Mickey’s surprised. Every first they’ve ever had has been a fucking mess. 

Doesn’t mean they hadn’t been good.

***

Their first fuck ever, for example. They’d been pissed and high as hell on adrenaline. They’d forged their way with nothing but vaseline and good old-fashioned will power. But when Ian had wrapped himself around Mickey’s back, his hand fumbling at the brunette’s cock with blind determination as he’d drilled into him, Mickey had come until he saw stars.

Bright, shiny, red fucking stars.

Maybe that was the moment he’d fallen.

***

Face to face the first time. Yeah, that had been a shit show. Fucking Kash N’ Grab. Fucking Frank. 

But that moment, fuck...that moment...right before that shitstain had run his mouth, Ian’s eyes had been squinting and fighting to stay open, to stare down into his as they both fell over the fucking edge. Damn, that moment had been...different.

***

The first time they’d fucked and kissed. That had been a...no…

No, that wasn’t a fucking disaster. The disaster had come the next morning. That had brought Terry and pistol-whippings and Russians and death threats. 

No, that night had been fucking perfect. Too perfect. That was the night that knit their hearts together. He knew that now. He’d fucked Gallagher face to face before. He’d let the redhead strip off all his clothes before. And they’d kissed...once...for a second…

That night had been everything. Ian in his bed again, flat on his back, staring up at him with nothing but desire and open admiration as Mickey had let his body ride that perfect dick the way it wanted to. Somehow, in that moment, the fears and dark realities of his world had all receded. Nothing had existed except the bright light that was Ian Gallagher, blazing all around him and inside him, scorching his mind and body and soul. Ian had been the fucking sun and Mickey, like a dumbass, had flown too close and had his wings melted right the fuck off…

But that had been the next day. That night, the heat had been sweet. It had built up between them, shining and bubbly, and when it threatened to explode, Ian had wrapped both of his arms around Mickey’s neck and pulled the brunette down and flush against him. They’d come together, their bodies rutting frantically as their lips and tongues and cries fought each other for dominance. 

And afterwards, at least for one night, Mickey hadn’t given the bullshit any chance to creep its way in. Terry’s youngest son had let his fully naked body sprawl loosely over the equally bare form of the neighborhood boy he secretly loved. He’d let Ian run strong hands all over him. He’d let him tease and breach his sensitive furl with one long finger, generating just enough stimulation to send Mickey rutting gently against the redhead’s thigh and panting crazy promises against his chest. With his other hand, Ian had set to kneading all the tension from Mickey’s back, digging into the tense vertebrae with determination. And he’d found Mickey’s mouth, plying him with soft kisses and whispering words of comfort until Mickey had tipped off into the deepest sleep he slept in a long time, propelled by a heady mixture of comfort and bliss. 

***

Firsts...first...what other first?

Shit, right, the first time with “I love yous” . 

Those words had been so fucking elusive for so long. When they finally had come, they’d been spoken in moments of fear, desperation and regret; yelling into a phone, freezing on the sidewalk, staring forlornly into each other’s eyes at the border.

Then suddenly they’d found themselves together in the bowels of a federal fucking penetentiary. 

It wasn’t the first time they’d banged inside. Hell, that had been all they’d done for the first few weeks. Or months.

But it was the words that had made this one matter. 

Those words. It had honestly surprised Mickey to realize that he couldn’t just squeeze them back out. Fuck, he’d given up Mexico for Ian, risked the wrath of a drug cartel for Ian. But those decisions had only risked his body, and he was used to that shit. It was risking his heart and soul again that had really scared him. 

So he’d spent months with his guard up as they both tripped around inside that tiny cell. They’d laughed and messed with each other and fucked every night, but Mickey hadn’t said a word. Ian had stayed silent, too, but Mickey had felt assessing eyes on him throughout each day. It had been fucking weird. Ian had been so damn steady, even in prison. He’d taken his meds religiously and suddenly he’d been healthy, strong, and driven again; so similar to the glowing, hopeful kid who’d first stolen Mickey’s heart. 

And Ian hadn’t pushed. He’d stayed in his lane and let Mickey rediscover his trust. And once it had started, it happened quickly. Mickey couldn’t have stopped it. Ian was always so damn shiny, even in that cage, but now the light was soft and healthy and Micky’s inevitable fall into its orbit had felt more like a plant reaching towards sunlight than a moth diving helplessly into a flame. 

It was that warmth, that comforting, enveloping heat, that had pulled the words from Mickey. It hadn’t been a particularly romantic moment. Hell, they’d just been banging it out in a little closet in the back of the laundry during Mickey’s work shift. It had been cramped and dank and kind of nasty.

Then Ian had buried his face into the crook of Mickey’s neck and a flood of emotionally charged memories had engulfed the brunette. 

“You ever get sick of doing that shit?” he’d demanded, his voice broken and panting, but curious.

Ian’s response had been to pull his head sideways and nuzzle harder. 

“Nope,” he’d murmured, “I’ll never get sick of it.”

Mickey’s breath had hitched but he’d still teased, “Yeah, yeah, firecrotch. I know you love how I smell.”

The brunette had felt Ian’s lips curve against his neck. Then the redhead was yanking him close, thrusting hard up inside him as one hand spread, warm and huge, across his belly and the other splayed over his heart. 

“You, Mick,” Ian had growled against his jaw, “I love  _ you.” _

“Fuck!” The word had flown from his lips. A pleasant climax had been building steadily inside of him, but that mouth, those hands, those  _ words;  _ they sent him careening over the edge, wailing and crying out bullshit as his body and mind came apart. He’d buckled backwards but Ian’s arms had been strong, holding him tight as he continued to rock up inside of him. 

“Love you, Mick,” he’d continue to chant, even as his hips stuttered and tensed and his voice began to break, “Fucking love you.”

They’d collapsed back against the wall, clinging to each other to hold themselves up as their ugly-ass yellow jumpsuits puddled around their ankles. Mickey had let his head loll backwards against Ian’s shoulder as he fought to catch his breath. 

Then he’d turned and buried his own face against Ian’s throat. 

“I fucking love you, too.”

***

So many firsts. So many messes.

But what the fuck was wrong with a mess? Everything was open now, spread out and visible and scattered. Their hearts, their souls, their lives. No more careful concealment. No more tucking things away. And maybe that made things messy. 

But he’d take it.

He was definitely taking it now.  _ Fuck! _

Mickey forced his eyes open again. It was all he could muster from a body that was too busy writhing in contradiction; half-languid from the orgasm Ian had rocked out of his prostate with his mouth and hands and half-crazy from the one the redhead was currently building up in his dick. 

_ Fuck! _

Mickey didn’t know if the word had actually come out of his mouth or simply exploded in his brain as his new husband continued his campaign. Ian currently had Mickey sprawled across the huge backseat of the sweet Mercedes that Liam had managed to jack for them, making a full and thorough map of the brunette’s body with his lips and tongue. He was also using the opportunity to strip away every stitch of clothing Mickey had on. Thank fuck his crazy ginger spouse had pulled the roof up and kept the car running when he’d parked them, because Mickey wasn’t sure that he still had the common sense to protest the freezing temperatures and light snow fall, not if it had meant telling Ian to pause. Hell, the redhead was killing him, but he was doing it so perfectly. 

A gasp tore from his lips and his back arched spontaneously as Ian gave the sensitive crease of his upper thigh a sharp nip. Out the window, slightly steamed even with the blasting heat, he caught sight of darkened, looming buildings surrounding them on all sides and a satisfied grin spread across his lips.

“The fuck we doing here?” he’d asked when Ian had pulled into the muddy lot as the sun dipped behind the tall, ruined structures. 

“Hiding from your dad, of course,” the redhead had quipped with a grin, “Isn’t that what we always did here?”

Mickey had shaken his head, glancing around nervously. “You better fucking hope we’re hidden,” he’d answered pointedly, “because he’ll shoot both our asses if he finds us.”

“I know that. We don’t have to worry, though, at least not for tonight. Sandy and Carl have eyes on Terry. She says he’s holed up with some old prison buddies.”

“Yeah, plotting his next fucking attack.”

“Probably,” Ian had retorted lightly, “But we’ll worry about that shit tomorrow. Tonight, I’ve got plans for us.”

“Yeah, me too, and they involve a king-sized bed. What the hell are we doing here? I ain’t fucking in a run down building for nostalgia’s sake, bitch.”

“Fuck that. Not the building,” Ian had snorted, then turned a huge grin on his new husband and gestured to the car interior. “This right here might be the fanciest damn place we’ll ever get to bang in. And we’re taking advantage of this shit.”

Mickey hadn’t been inclined to disagree. Not when Ian had dragged him into the back and laid him out on the massive expanse of buttery soft leather. Not when Ian had yanked off his pants and gotten long fingers deep inside him. And definitely not when Ian had managed to get his whole body pulsing and cresting with pleasure without even setting off his cock.

“The fuck’d you learn how to do that,” Mickey had panted, his stomach still fluttering while Ian continued to torture his hole and lap playfully at the head of his swollen dick.

The redhead had grinned. “Did you like it?”

“Fuck yeah, but…”

“Then don’t worry about it. You’re the only one I’m going to be doing it with. For the rest of my life,” And with that, Ian had leaned forward and shut him up with his mouth. 

Mickey bit back a ticklish grin as Ian kissed his way up his belly and chest. The redhead finally working the last few buttons on the black dress shirt open, yanking it off and tossing it into the front seat. Mickey was completely bare now, spread out under his fully clothed husband, but when he reached for the redhead’s own shirt, Ian pushed his hands away. Thrusting one arm under his lover’s back and the other around his upper thighs, Ian twisted and sat himself in the deep leather seat, straddling Mickey across his lap. 

“Stays on,” he ordered, gesturing to his tux. When Mickey moved to speak, Ian cut him off with a finger to his lips. “I’ll give you this much,” he acceded, using one hand to pop open the buttons down the length of his chest while the other cupped the side of Mickey’s head and skimmed a thumb over the brunette’s lips, “but the rest stays on.”

“Why the fu…”

“Shhh,” The redhead ordered sharply, his green eyes burning bright. 

And Mickey did. The fuck? He never let anybody tell what to fucking do. But his dick definitely liked the idea, twitching and bobbing against his stomach as his mouth snapped shut. The green eyes gleamed with satisfaction as Ian pulled him down and spread him flush across his chest. The first contact was hot and perfect, but he only gasped wordlessly as Ian pinned him with a hand across his lower back and stroked into the top of his cleft with one finger. Threading his fingers through Mickey’s hair, the redhead pulled until the brunette’s spine arched perfectly.

“Close your eyes,” he ordered.

Mickey complied. He didn’t even think about it. His whole body felt charged and tingling as his husband’s voice drifted over him. 

“Always wanted to do this shit,” the whispered words tickled at his ear, followed by the flick of a tongue, “Always wanted to have you like this. Open, vulnerable, trusting me.” 

Mickey’s breath caught in his throat but Ian just pushed ahead. “I’ve got you. I’m asking you to let me do this. I want to, so fucking bad. Just listen to my voice, okay. I promise I’ll make you feel so good.” 

Ian’s voice was soft and gentling, his hand moving in proprietary yet soothing circles over the globes of Mickey’s ass, but his attempts at persuasion were unnecessary. Mickey was already nodding, waves of heat pulsing through him as Ian held him tight, kissing along his jaw and breathing in the scent of his skin.

“Can you feel me, Mick?” the redhead demanded. The brunette nodded as Ian’s hard cock pressed into his stomach. “Good. I’m hard for you but I know I can get harder. Get me hard, Mick.”

The brunette felt his breath catch. In the darkness behind his closed eyes, sparks of light danced. Unwrapping one arm from where it had rested around his husband’s neck, he reached down, but Ian stopped him with a growl.

“No hands.”

Fuck. As if everything else hadn’t gone straight to his dick. Settling his arm back around Ian’s neck, Mickey let the redhead use his own palm to guide his hips, pressing and grinding against the erection straining through the black dress pants. 

“That’s it. So fucking good.” The praise ran over Mickey like warm water, and set his hips rolling and coiling with more intensity. The globes of his ass slapped and settled against Ian’s strong thighs with each thrust, and each stroke sent sparks through his cock and the sensitized nerves of his channel. 

“That’s it, Mick. That’s good. Now give me your mouth.”

Fuck, what was happening to him? Is this what a ring on his finger, one he actually gave a shit about, turned him into; an obedient little bitch? Yeah, apparently, and Mickey couldn’t find any damn fault with it as he let Ian intertwine their tongues and grab two hands full of his ass. That pulled a little gasp from the brunette’s lips but Ian kept on kissing him stupid, rutting Mickey’s nude form against the soft material of his wedding tux. Mickey could feel the familiar shape of Ian’s dick, full and ready for him. He wanted it so fucking bad, wanted to demand it like he always had.

But something held him back.

It suddenly felt imperative to wait, to keep his eyes closed, to let the weight of his body settle against Ian’s warm skin, and rut with frantic patience. Because his husband wanted him to wait; to listen; to let him take control. Mickey never did this shit. He never surrendered. That meant danger, beatings, death threats. But not tonight. Before Ian had dragged him into the backseat of this huge car and into his arms, he’d taken care of all that shit. Hidden them away. Put trustworthy spies on the enemy. He’d created a perfect, safe bubble for Mickey to close his eyes and let himself feel. And damn if the blue-eyed man wasn’t going to enjoy every minute of it.

“I think you got me ready,” the redhead whispered against his ear, stilling Mickey’s thrusts with one hand while he captured his chin with another. Mickey felt a gentle thumb brush over his lids and immediately understood the silent command. Eyes stayed shut. He found that wasn’t a problem, even when Ian seized him up and flipped them around again.

Shit, sometimes he forgot how fucking strong Ian was. The taller man set him down on his knees on the soft leather seat, letting his fingers run down Mickey’s arms and curl around his fingers. With one huge hand, Ian pinned Mickey’s wrists to the rear window deck, though his hold was light and playful. With his knees, he nudged the brunette’s legs until they were splayed wide. 

Mickey let his head fall forward to wrest on Ian’s arm. The redhead immediately reached out with one finger, stroking it up his cheek tenderly. Behind him, Mickey could hear the pop of a button, the whir of a zipper, the snap of a bottle cap. But he made no move to rush anything along. He felt the seat dip more deeply and the brush of pants-clad knees sliding back between his thighs, spreading them every so slightly wider.

Fuck, his crazy ginger had a point. There was something so incredibly fucking hot about being completely bare-ass while Ian stayed clothed. Every damn time that tux brushed his skin, it lit him on fire anew. 

“Gonna fuck you now, Micky,” Ian murmured against the back of his neck, the careful control in his voice fading into breathlessness. “Gonna fuck my husband.”

Oh, that word. That fucking word. There’d been a time when he’d hated it, when he’d insisted that everything it stood for was just a piece of fucking paper. Now, though, that paper meant everything. It meant that he and Ian finally,  _ finally,  _ belonged to each other. It fucked him up, but in the best way.

Apparently, it fucked Ian up pretty good, too. The redhead burrowed into the back of his neck, breathing in deep gulps and nipping along Mickey’s shoulders as he worked his cock inside him. Fuck, fuck, dammit, how could this feel so different? They’d fucked just this morning. But then, it had been one hell of a day, beginning with attempted patricide and ending with lawful weddedness. And it was different now. He didn’t care if it sounded crazy. Those rings, those vows, that fucking piece of paper; it made everything better. They’d fucked a thousand times in their lives, made love a thousand more, but this was something else. This was consummating their fucking marriage. 

Ian let out a little moan when he finally bottomed out, breaking through Mickey’s love and lust drunk haze to spread a smile across his lips. He kept his eyes closed, but he couldn’t help turning his head back to rain light kisses against Ian’s jaw, kisses that turned to cries as Ian pulled back and thrust up into him, slow and deep. The redhead used his free hand to cup Mickey’s face, and they tangled their tongues and their breathless wails together as Ian worked their bodies in tandem. 

Slow, steady, perfect. Each stroke as deep as possible. Mickey could vaguely feel Ian’s one huge hand slide away from his wrists to twine their fingers. His other hand still cradled the brunette’s face but their kiss had ended and now they were just exchanging the same blissful sighs as they rocked together. Mickey’s body felt electric, as if tendrils of energy were dancing all over his skin. It was so perfect, almost too perfect, but when he pushed back slightly with his hips, Ian’s hand immediately flew down to still him. 

“More,” he insisted, his commanding voice mixed with a hint of pleading. “Give me more. We don’t have to fucking rush. I just...fuck, Micky, I just want to stay inside you.” 

His nerves already felt electrified but those words sent a bolt through his heart. He let his body go loose and pliant again, resting his core against the soft leather chair as Ian curled over his back, threading both of their hands together on the seat back so that he could thrust with more force. Mickey’s mind felt muddled, dazed by a thick fog of pleasure, and he was perfectly content to let his whole existence narrow itself down to Ian’s warm, demanding words and thick cock inside him. Fuck, Ian wanted them to stay like this? They could stay like this forever, joined in every fucking way. Falling into easy surrender, Mickey let his cheek rest against the seat back between their hands as Ian slowly and perfectly plundered him. 

He was jolted a bit when Ian shifted them without warning, wrapping their linked fingers around Mickey’s waist to pull him backwards. It settled Ian’s dick even deeper inside him and they both gasped, Mickey’s eyes finally flying open and meeting Ian’s green gaze over his shoulder. The redhead leaned in to steal a quick kiss and pressed their brows together. 

“I’d do that all night if I could,” he murmured lightly, “But I’m not gonna last much longer.”

Mickey’s felt his whole body tense at those words. Ian felt it, too. It drew a sly grin from him.

“Yeah, don’t you fucking worry. I’m gonna make sure you get everything you want,” He rocked his hips gently, pulling another sharp cry from Mickey’s throat. “This is your cock after all. Yours for the rest of our lives. And this ass,” he declared, “this ass is mine.”

Shifting a final time, Ian leaned back until his shoulders rested against the front seat. Mickey could feel the firm hold the redhead was keeping around his waist, supporting him as he balanced across his lover’s thighs. 

“Your turn,” Ian whispered, his voice thick with mischievous delight, “I wanna watch while you ride your cock with my ass.”

_ Corny fucker,  _ Mickey thought, even as the words did things to his stomach and dick. Already, his hips were moving, guided by Ian’s strong hands as he worked himself up and down Ian’s cock. No,  _ no, his cock.  _ It  _ was  _ his. Ian was his. He was Ian’s. Forever and ever, as long as though both shall…

“Fuck!”

The word definitely flew out of his mouth this time, and exploded in his head, as his body exploded in movement. He was moving in earnest now, thoughtlessly and artlessly, as a litany of endearments and profanity and wordless sobs echoed in the car. He didn’t need to think. Hell, he never had, not in these moments. His body instinctively knew how to fuck and be fucked by Ian Gallagher. Behind him, he could hear Ian’s pants and feel each warm breath on the skin of his back. He loved those sounds, loved how he could make Ian fall apart, too.

“Shit, Mick, I want to...fucking can’t,” the redhead’s voice was strained and Mickey could feel their hands tightening around his hips under Ian’s control. “I’d watch you like this forever if I could but I’m not...not gonna…”

Ian gave up on words. Which was good. Mickey wasn’t sure he understood words anymore. Behind him, Ian was moving, thrusting up to meet him with every stroke. The huge car began to rock with their efforts and they both released their right hands, Mickey reaching for the ceiling and Ian bracing himself on the door as their pace became frantic. Not their left hands, though. Even as Mickey keened and cried as Ian pounded up into him, they kept their hands locked as their wedding rings clicked together. 

“Fuck,” Ian cried, his hip thrusts getting wildly erratic. Mickey cried out insensibly, his self-awareness obliterated and his whole body strung tight. When Ian surged forward, grabbing him around the waist and dumping them both forward against the back seat, the brunette scrambled into the best position to allow Ian to continue driving up into him. 

“Holy Fuck, Mick,” Ian roared behind him, a hint of genuine wonder bleeding into his voice, “This is so fucking...Jesus fuck, Mick, we’re married...I’m fucking my husband.”

And as hard and deep and perfect as Ian felt in him, it was those words, laced with awe and pure joy, that really sent Mickey tumbling over the edge. He came, untouched and forcefully, his whole body spasming and contorting with the strength of it. He felt his channel contract, bearing down on Ian’s shaft, and the redhead was gone, too, crying broken nonsense against the side of his throat as his arms scrabbled and pulled Mickey close.

They both froze, clinging to each other, their bodies seizing with the power of the climax as it ripped through both of them, cresting again and again. When it finally released, Mickey gasped, his body turning immediately to jelly as he fell forward against the seat. Ian’s arms fell away, too weak to hold up another body, but the redhead did manage to roll sideways before he collapsed into the passenger side door. 

For long minutes, they just stared at each other, their lips curled into matching self-satisfied grins as they fought to catch their breath and get their bodies to come back to life.

“Holy shit,” Mickey finally managed. It was almost too much effort. Fuck, that was definitely...definitely…

“Best sex ever?” Ian asked, his voice teasing as he finished Mickey’s thought out loud. Mickey’s grin grew.

“Hell yes,” he breathed, finally managing to roll off his knees, settling into a puddle against Ian’s chest. The redhead moved his hand just enough to cup Mickey’s chin and place a kiss against his lips, but then he fell back against the door. 

“Let’s just lay here for a minute, okay,” he murmured. Mickey didn’t argue. Turning his head, he let his cheek rest against Ian’s warm skin and his eyes fall closed. 

Just for a minute.

***

When he finally woke up, Mickey was alone in the back seat, but the steady chill from outside was held off by a thick, velvety soft blanket that was carefully tucked all around him. He stretched experimentally, taking inventory of his body. A tiny bit of soreness, a ton of residual pleasure weighing down all of his limbs. Fuck, how long had he slept? He knew it had to have been deep for Ian to have wiggled out from under him and wrapped him up so snuggly without him even noticing. And where the fuck was his crazy ginger husband?

The sound of the trunk slamming shut answered that question. Glancing out the window, Mickey saw Ian walking towards the driver’s front door, his shirt re-buttoned and his clothes straightened to some semblance of order. His hair was still wild though, and the grin he threw Mickey as he caught his eyes was hungry. 

Mickey forced himself up as Ian slide into the driver’s seat and turned around to smirk at him.

“Have a good nap?”

The brunette pressed his palms against his eyes for a long moment. “How long was I out?” 

Ian shrugged. “An hour. That’s all. Me, too. But I think we earned it.” The look in his eyes as he held Mickey’s gaze was soft. “But as fun as that was, I think it’s time we found a real bed.”

“Yeah,” Mickey agreed, “Told you I got plans that involve a bed.”

“Get up here then.”

Mickey glanced around. “Need my fucking clothes.”

“Nope.”

“What?”

“No clothes.”

“The fuck…”Mickey met Ian’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “Need ‘em if I’m gonna get into our room, bitch. The Love Canal might be a shithole but even they aren’t gonna let me walk in bareass naked.”

Ian snorted, “I know. Besides, no one gets to see that ass but me. It’s  _ my  _ ass, remember? Put that thing on.”

“Thing?”

“Yeah, it’s a robe.”

“The fuck…”he yanked at the velvety cloth, taking a closer look. Yep, there were sleeves. 

“Where the hell did you get this?” 

“Liam. Same as the car. Frank’s squatting in some rich bitch’s house. Liam took a quick look around.” Ian gave him a playful grin, “He also grabbed us some expensive ass champagne and a bottle of really nice scotch.”

Mickey glanced down at the pile of cloth again. “So, we don’t know who the hell has worn this shit?”

Ian snorted, “They’re rich as fuck, Mickey. It’s probably brand new and if not, it’s been fucking dry-cleaned by maids at least once in the last month. Besides, it’s all you got. I didn’t wait ten years for this night to let you spend any part of it in actual clothes.”

“Fuck, fine,” he muttered, pulling the luxurious robe on. Shit, it was soft. “Gonna need shoes at least.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll carry you.”

“The fuck you…” but his words were cut off as a pair of matching slippers flew into the backseat. 

“Get up here,” the redhead ordered, “I want to go someplace else so I can do more shit to you.”

“Alright, alright,” sliding the slippers on, Mickey scrambled into the front. He caught a glimpse of Ian’s appreciative gaze as he settled into the passenger’s seat.

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s just, you have really nice legs.”

Mickey grinned. “Fuck you, Gallagher.”

Shifting slightly in his seat, Ian reached out and caught his chin. “Gallagher?” he asked, “You know, that’s something we never figured out. Names and shit.”

Mickey nodded, “Yeah, well, you can become a Milkovich. Maybe that would give my dad a fucking heart attack. Solve all our problems.” He smiled though, and reached up to rub Ian’s hand, “Don’t want to think about that asshole tonight. But we can talk about it. We’ll figure some shit out. But not now, okay.”

“Yeah, not now,” Leaning in, Ian brushed their lips together. It was Mickey who finally broke the kiss.

“Bed, Gallagher!”

Ian smiled and turned to put the car into drive, nodding agreeably.

“Yeah, bed.”


End file.
